Dreams are just the shackles of memory and emotion on the human being
by storiewriter
Summary: Gintoki doesn't dream often, and when he does it's usually vague. When it's not that, it's a memory, suffocating, like being stuffed in a cage with no way to turn. Except this time, it's not quite any of those things. (Spoilers through episode 305!) Now with another Kagura-centric chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** First Gintama ficlet. Spoilers through Episode 305!

* * *

Gintoki didn't dream often. When he did, it was usually dark, red, more impressions than solid ideas, although those did sometimes form: the detailed notches in the finger bones of the skeletons trying to pull him under; the reflection of himself, younger, less trusting, in the eyes of the corpse whose sword he was looting; wildflowers blooming, bright, then suddenly wilting under a literal rain of blood and viscera. But they were hyper-focused spots of clear vision where everything else was faded, fuzzy. He was thankful for that on the nights that he did dream, because while he was used to the blood and the guts and the shit of the battlefield, he didn't exactly want to wallow in it for however many hours of sleep he managed to drag from drinking or (rarely) working.

Gintoki didn't dream often. When he did, it was usually unfocused and vague. But when he dreamed, and when it wasn't what it usually was, he wasn't dreaming as much as reliving, as fearing. Knowing he was, but unable to wake. Trapped.

" _Will your students choose to die in vain with you, or will they choose to live on, even if they have to kill their teacher with their own hands?_ "

Hard earth underfoot. The hilt, warm, his right hand, not sweaty but only because sweaty hands meant bad grip meant likelier chance of death and they had to, they had a mission to save him, to save Shōyo-sensei, so they had to live—his heart in his chest, fast, because beyond that idiot Takasugi and that dumbass Zura, on the ground, pinned, because beyond them was Shōyo-sensei, alive, back turned to them, and Gin couldn't tell if he looked any older but he'd guess not because Shōyo-sensei was invincible, even to age—the air, rough, dry, heavy with dust and probably blood that he didn't notice so close to battle—the men around, beside, behind him, their shakujō pointed at him, warm and imposing and threatening and it would take two, maybe three vicious strikes and swings to blow them away but it would take less time for Zura and Takasugi and Shōyo-sensei to die, so he doesn't.

 _This is a dream_ , he thinks, as the leader of the Tendōshuu says, " _It's the perfect execution for an educator like you, don't you think?_ "

 _This is a dream_ , he thinks, even as his body steps forward without his willing it, as he stares at Shōyo-sensei's back, the way it lifts and rises in life as it doesn't and can't in death, not when his head's been chopped off, even Shōyo-sensei can't function if his brain's not attached to tell his body when to eat and when to breathe and when to shit.

" _Pick whichever you like, your teacher or your friends,_ " but he already knows what he will do because he loves Shōyo-sensei but it's because he loves him that he cannot, cannot let Takasugi and Zura die.

Another step. Another. He hates himself, hates himself to the core of his being for moving forward, for moving towards Shōyo-sensei with a naked blade and the intention to kill him in his heart. Gintoki does not fight the dream, though; he knows that this was the best outcome, the only outcome.

He still hates himself for being weak.

Slight breeze in his hair, tugging at the hems of his sleeves, at the stray strands of Shōyo-sensei's hair. He passes Zura, Takasugi, comes ever-closer, know the end is near. Feels the dust against his cheek, the dirt between his toes from where it worked past the weave of his tabi, _this is a dream but it happened_ , he thinks.

" _Stop—Gintoki—please!_ " Takasugi says behind him, voice raw, high, and he'd only heard that voice once before, when Shōyo-sensei had been taken away and Gin had been left behind to wallow in his own powerlessness. But he continues on, despite Takasugi's pleas. Zura is quiet. Zura, Gintoki thinks, knows. Understands.

Well, considering what Zura became, what Takasugi became, Gintoki already knows who understood and accepted and who didn't and was driven mad by it. By him.

Shifting metal rings, the lifting of a shakujō, his sensei, quiet. Stopping. He shifts the grip on the hilt, raises the katana. Waits.

Quietly, so that only Gintoki and his two guards can hear, Shōyo-sensei says, "Thank you."

Gintoki knew it was coming. But he feels his mouth drop still, his eyes tense, then relax, and begin to water, just a little. He smiles, and he knows that he only does because sensei deserves, if nothing else, to be sent off with something good.

He pulls the katana blade over to his left side and begins to swing, but—unlike before, unlike every iteration of this nightmare—Shōyo-sensei is no longer before his blade. Instead—Kagura, Shinpachi, in white and quiet, shoulder-to-shoulder, trembling, they are there before his blade and Gintoki screams out with every fiber of his being to stop, stop, this is not how it should be this is _never_ how it will be dammit, he will never allow himself to kill them for his own sake he—

It is a dream, though. It is a dream, a perversion of a memory, and Gin has no control. He is trapped. He is trapped inside himself, left to watch as the blade descends and blood sprays with the singing of metal through air, through flesh and bone and not hair because Kagura's is up, Shinpachi's is too short, and their heads tumble to the ground to stare up at him, wide and dead-eyed and he sees himself, crying, in the reflection of Kagura's blue irises and Shinpachi's glasses, but he is no longer Shiroyasha, he is _him_ , he is crying and they are dead and the sword falls from his grasp and he falls to his knees, hands shaking, and—

The alarm rang. He woke, throat sore, and slammed his hand so hard into the alarm clock that it flew to the other side of the room and embedded itself into the wall, springs hanging down, bouncing.

"Shut up!" He said, the way he usually did but different, but different because he kept seeing their blood on his hands. "It's too early for this shit," but it came out too quiet, and he had to fist his fingers in his sleep pants to keep them from shaking.

The door slid open in a rattle and a thud. "Mmm, Gin-chan," Kagura said, rubbing at her eyes, hair going everywhere. "Shut up, it's too early."

"That's what I just said." He shifted, fisting his fingers in the material of his blanket before looking up at her. He can't stop himself from cataloguing her inju— _there are no injuries, this is not a dream_ —and staring at her neck _—of course it's still attached, that was a dream, this is reality—_ and he lets out a disgusted groan because fuck if he's going to let this kid know what's going on inside his head.

"No, idiot perm-head," She grumbled, and he saw her cross her arms out of his periphery. He couldn't look. Not now, not when his dream was being superimposed over her. "You were yelling before the dumb alarm went off. It woke me up."

He swallowed. He never yelled. Gasped, started, woke—never yelled. "You sure it wasn't some drunk out in the street? I didn't hear me yelling."

Kagura scowled at him, and she'd be more terrifying if she weren't so damn small, so damn young. "Aaah? You deaf? Gin-chan, are you finally turning old enough for your hair?"

"It's silver!" He said, crossing his own arms and legs. His hands were still shaking. He yelled? Experience said _never_ , his rasping throat said _maybe_. "Not white!"

"It's white!" Kagura said, and she had a little malicious grin on her face now. "You're getting too old to be a Jump protagonist! This is it, this is the end of Gintama!"

"Shut up! You know we don't age, I'll never be too old to be a Jump protagonist! Remember the Ryugujo arc? I was still the protagonist then, idiot!"

"Nuh-uh, we girls had to do all the work!" Kagura bent over, and her hair fell forward, covering the sides of her neck, and Gintoki caught himself thinking that like this it would be shorn, that now it would be like Shōyo-sensei's and he found himself never, ever wanting to see her cut hair.

He swallowed, pushed back an answer after a pause a heartbeat too long. "Zura and I still had to save your asses! When we were _all_ old, I was still more useful than the lot of you!" Something else, anything else. Not blades or hair or anything, not blood, not—

"Gin-san? Kagura-chan? Are you both ready? We have a job this morning, remember?" Ah, bless Shinpachi, they had a job, if they had a job he could stop thinking about things that didn't matter because _they weren't going to happen_.

"Shinpachi doesn't count on our side! He's always useless!" Kagura proclaimed, turning up her nose and putting her fists on her hips. "Plus, you had help, remember? You only became useful when you weren't so old anymore!"

"Who are you calling useless?" Shinpachi yelled, and he became slightly louder when he pulled the second door open. "I was the only one who didn't get old! You all were dumb enough to get hit with the gas!"

"Maa, there's not much difference between young glasses and old glasses," Gin said, waving a hand in front of his face. He could feel the fingers trembling, but when he looked it wasn't even noticeable. It would be fine. It had to be fine. "It wouldn't be an interesting choice stylistically."

"Would you stop that! I'm not a pair of glasses, I'm a human being wearing a pair of glasses!" Shinpachi yelled, pointing his finger at them, eyes narrowed, flickering between the two of them.

"Shut up up there!" The old hag howled from the doorway, and he imagined her in her pajamas, a cigarette between her fingers, no makeup. It was better than the alternative. "Some of us went to sleep an hour ago!"

"You shut up! You don't need beauty sleep when you're already so ugly!" Gin yelled, digging his fingers back into his sides. This was fine. This was normal. This was normal and memory-dreams stayed on track and he didn't scream during nightmares. He also didn't feel on the verge of tears because what Shōnen Jump protagonist cried after a nightmare? "This is a time when normal people are up already!"

"Says the man who was asleep until eleven yesterday morning!" Shinpachi said, but Gin couldn't look at him without seeing his own crying face in Shinpachi's glasses, so he didn't, he just looked at the space between their heads. There was another, awkward beat.

"Mmhmm." Kagura nodded twice. Ah, usually she was faster in switching between subjects. Well, it was only 6:30, he could allow her _some_ slack. "No wonder he has white hair!"

"How does that even make _sense_?" Gintoki said, and then he leaned back, stared at the ceiling. His eyes weren't burning, not at all. "Out! I need to get dressed! We have a job to do! Unlike some people who stay up late partying and wake up even later!"

"What did you say?" Otose howled from the door.

"He said nothing!" Shinpachi said, a wide-eyed panic to his voice. He turned, quickly, patted Kagura on the shoulder. Gin winced and waited for Shinpachi to go flying. "C'mon, Kagura-chan, it's not appropriate for girls to watch guys undress anyways."

"Pfft, like I'd want to see Gin-chan's gross old-man body anyways!" She huffed and twirled on the ball of one foot. She tucked her hands behind her back—they were more like one giant fist, and Gin thought that maybe she was learning to restrain herself. Must have been hard; her knuckles were white, and when she spoke, her voice was strained. "Don't let your aching joints make you take forever!"

"I'm not old!" Gin said, and he threw his pillow at the both of them for good measure. He aimed for their heads, faltered, and released it too late, shifted the aim of it, and it flew between their bodies and hit the back of the couch instead. They laughed, high and breathy, and shut the door.

It was quiet. Just Gin, a broken clock in the wall, and his own thoughts. His hands shook. He brought them up to his face, took in a deep breath, and let out a shaky sigh. He did not close his eyes.

"Never," he mumbled to himself. "Never."

He had made that choice once. He would not do it again—not to them. Not ever to them.

After a few more moments, he pushed himself up to his feet, walked over to the closet, and opened it. There were rows of black and red, of white and blue. Slowly, he pulled one set of each—kimono, pants and shirt—from the closet.

This was normal. This was good.

(but still, he would dream about their blood on his hands later, when they returned from Yoshiwara hurt and scared and weak but alive, when they came back from the Shogun's palace after near-death but no physical harm, whenever shit happened and they were put in harm's way and it was his fault, all his fault—

He never stopped screaming at the end of those dreams

Even though he knew it was coming)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This is not as hurt/comfort as I wanted it to be. Please note this is all platonic.

* * *

 **Warm milk and honey tastes good, so warm strawberry milk should too**

Kagura woke with a stilted whine in the back of her throat and her arm radiating pain. For a moment, she lay in the closet, harsh breath and sweat at her hairline, and stared at the ceiling. The paint was as flaky as it had been since she'd moved into the Yorozuya house, red chips of color barely distinguishable from the wood underneath. Below her, Sadaharu let out a whine, and his paws scratched against the wall—doggy dreams. Gin-chan had to put a metal sheet against the wall so that Sadaharu could dream without breaking anything more than he already had. He'd complained the whole time, promised Kagura that he'd take it out of her pay.

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. Her arm throbbed in time with her heartbeat, still fast but slowing down. She was safe. There were no Yato, not her dumb brother, not the man with the stupid scruff and long hair who goaded her into becoming something she didn't want to be. Kagura let out a slow breath and closed her eyes. In one-two-three, pause, out one-two-three, like Mami always taught her. It was meant to stop crying, but it worked just as well with this. Her Mami really was smart.

Mami had also showed her how to make warm milk and honey to help go to sleep again. Kagura wondered if they had any of that. Maybe strawberry milk would be enough—not like Gin-chan needed any more of that, really. It was probably close enough. She wondered if it would taste good warm. Probably would. Milk was milk, after all.

"Yup," she whispered, then she pulled herself up into a sitting position, pushing off her good arm and ignoring the wide ache in her side. It was just a big dumb bruise, nothing to worry about. Kagura looked down at the ground, saw where the white of Sadaharu's back was, and jumped down. The balls of her feet hit the ground in a quiet thud, and she paused a moment to listen. Sadaharu whimpered, scratched the wall. Gin-chan, in the other room, was making noises, and she didn't really want to know what he was doing in the middle of the night that he was grunting so loud.

Well, if it got _too_ bad, she could always close her eyes, open the door, and chuck something at him. That's what Mami said she had done with Papi, before she and Papi got married.

With a yawn, Kagura slid the closet door open with her left hand and stepped out into the hallway. She stared into the living room made eerie in darkness. The roof creaked in the wind, and moonlight slanted in through a broken blind to cut through the room, across Gin-chan's empty desk and one of the couches. She yawned and the moment broke. Facing forward again, she shuffled towards the kitchen.

She thought about flipping on the light, but put it out of mind immediately when she thought about actually exposing her eyes to that this early in the morning. Kagura made her way to the fridge, absentmindedly noting the grit under her feet. Shinpachi really needed to sweep soon. Scratching her butt, she opened the fridge and squinted into its light.

"Milk, milk," she muttered, quiet, and pushed a bottle of shōyu to the side, a half-eaten container of canned pineapple. "Miiiiilk, miii—oh, there!"

Grinning, Kagura pulled her spoils out from behind a takeout Tupperware from that all-you-can-eat place down the road. Gin-chan had taken them there last and it had ended with all three of them smuggling food out—the Tupperware in the fridge was the last of their stash.

Holding the carton in her hand, Kagura tilted her head and closed her eyes. It felt like it was three-quarters full, so Kagura could definitely get away with a nice mugful of warm strawberry milk without Gin-chan really noticing. And if he did, she'd deny it until both their faces were blue, so there.

Humming the Doraemon song, she shut the fridge door with her foot and put the carton of strawberry milk in the sink. When she moved her hand to the left, she realized that it was next to a pile of crusty dinner dishes that she hadn't rinsed out, which meant there was already a cup somewhere. Blinking, she patted around with her good hand and tried to find the plastic cup she used to drink water out of. The moment she placed her fingers on the rim, she let out a whispered cackle and tipped it upside down. Drops of water hit the bottom of the sink, the sound echoing, and when she turned the cup right-side-up, she heard Gin-chan make another strangled noise.

Scrunching her nose, Kagura set the cup at the bottom of the sink, not very careful of the noise because if Gin-chan was masturbating then he wasn't going to be paying attention, and pulled top of the milk carton open. Her dumb stubby Papi-fingers only just long enough to encompass enough of the carton to grip it, Kagura lifted, poured lovely strawberry milk that Gin-chan absolutely wasn't going to miss into the cup. She filled it too full and heard it spill over the sides of the rim and onto the metal of the sink before she tipped the carton back up. Oops.

Somewhat hesitant, Kagura hefted the weight of it to check how much she'd used after all. Eh, half was close to three quarters, right? Gin-chan might notice, but it wasn't that much. He could share the milk, right? She toed the fridge door open again and slung the milk carton back in before hiding it behind the Tupperware of ill-gotten buffet food.

She had just shut the fridge when Gin-chan, instead of groaning, let out a gurgling cry that didn't sound at all like any kind of pleasure or pain-pleasure—and they had just spent time in Yoshiwara, so Kagura was pretty sure that she'd know. Slowly, she stood up from her crouch, muscles in her legs aching just a little. She stood there in the silence, waiting, one arm up against her chest and one arm ready, relaxed, weight shifted forward towards the balls of her feet instead of her heels. Kagura blinked, then focused on the faint gleam of the floorboards in the hallway, the silence thick, tense.

Suddenly, Gin-chan let out something not-quite a shout, a half bitten back name that ended in _sensei_. Kagura took a quiet step forward, then another, and was in the hall when she heard him say _No, no, not them, no_ , was in the living room on silent feet when he whimpered out _please_ , was standing right outside the door to where he slept when he gurgled _Kagu—Shinpa—nonoNO—_ and she swallowed against the lump in her throat, free hand fisted in her sleep shirt, suddenly awake and alert and trembling.

Papi had had nightmares sometimes, when he was home. Mami had more, fitful bouts of sleep addled with sickness, and she'd never shouted but she'd sighed and whined and had gone stiff against Kagura's small hands whenever Kagura tried to wake her. Kagura dreamed too, quiet ones about death and everybody leaving to be stronger, to provide, to die. Now this last one too, about the feel of bone snapping, flesh tearing under her hands, about the slick of blood against her knuckles and under her nails. About Scruff-Yato's leer and Shinpachi's bulging eyes and bile and Gin-chan's limp and torn body. About not stopping, not wanting to stop, about refusing to stop. She swallowed again, clenched her fist tighter to stop it from trembling.

It hadn't occurred to her that maybe Gin-chan could have nightmares, not until ages ago when they'd woken up early for a job and he'd screamed and screamed and woke up. He had then joked and wouldn't look her or Shinpachi in the eye, had missed them when he'd thrown the pillow. She'd looked at Shinpachi, and he had shaken his head, whispered, _'Gin-san doesn't like facing these things,'_ and she'd listened because it was true. And despite it all, she forgot the instance, put it to the back of her mind because Gin-chan wasn't as loud again when he was home at night, and he joked and laughed and teased them all mercilessly and didn't pay them on time or at all and—

Gin-chan let out a yell, louder this time, wordless and angry and sad and with something in it so not-Gin-chan and Kagura had reached over, had gripped the handle on the door and had flung it open hard enough to slam against the end of the track before she'd fully thought about doing it.

The bang snapped through the silence and Gin-chan sat up, then set his feet against the futon. A split second later, he was standing. Faster than that, he whirled around, blankets flying and weight centered even with his injuries, hand fisted around one upraised pillow and something wild in his eyes, a tenseness to his neck and arm that had Kagura wanting to step back. But she didn't. She stared at Gin-chan, dropped her arm down to prop her hand against one hip, and waited.

His breathing was loud, and for a moment he sharpened, eyes wide pupils large but lost against a sea of white, face shadowed in harsh panels. Kagura waited. One moment, two, and he blinked, started to relax. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Kagura?"

"Mmm." She shifted her weight to one side. "You're loud."

Gin-chan's arm dropped, slowly, but when Kagura looked, his hand was still clenched around it. "What are you doing up? Brats need their sleep."

That was weak. Kagura narrowed her eyes. "You woke me up, y'know," she lied, and it was especially okay to lie in this case because she had A Plan.

"Oh?" Gin-chan said, and he was really bad at hiding when he was like this. "What do you mean? And even if I _were_ the one to wake you up, what do you expect me to do about it? I can't magic you back to sleep—no fairy godmothers here, idiot."

"You'd be an ugly fairy godmother," she said, waving her free hand in dismissal. "Who wants a perm-head waving around a dirty piece of wood to spread magic everywhere?"

She watched his hand—both his hands. One was still fisted in the pillow, the other up and rubbing at his forehead, obscuring his eyes. In a moment of sudden clarity, Kagura realized that he couldn't physically look at her, that he was nearly literally hiding. If she hadn't been watching, maybe she wouldn't have noticed.

Gin-chan took a couple moments to respond. "Girls shouldn't be saying things like that."

Okay no, Kagura thought. _That_ was weak. He was resorting to Shinpachi-isms. He really was out of it. "Well it's true! Also, take responsibility for me being awake."

He chuckled, high and tense and scratchy and _not Gin-chan_. He still didn't look at her. "How do you expect me to do that?"

Kagura huffed and stepped into the room. She watched how he shifted, how his fingers parted a little and while she couldn't see his face, maybe he could see hers. Well, as much as one could see in the dim lighting from between the shades on the window.

"We're having a sleepover!" Kagura declared. She set her fist on her hip and widened her stance. It was the I'm-In-Charge-Now-Not-You-You-Idiot stance, and Mami had used it all the time on Papi when she could stand and he was being dumb.

There was a moment of stunned silence before, "Sleepover?"

"Mm!" She nodded, decisive.

"That wouldn't be setting a very good example. Dirty old man, young dumb girl, having a sleepover? The parents will get mad at us."

"Seita shoved a censored dildo into a fat man's butt. It's too late for that," Kagura said. Really, this was far more reasonable. "Get out your other dumb futon and set it up and we'll be good."

Gin-chan groaned, dragged his hand down his face and looked away. "Kagura, I don't think—"

"No you don't. That head up there is brainless, because your dumb perm has strangled the little life that was up there." She grinned, stepped closer. He stepped away, off the futon. Struck by sudden genius, Kagura took another step, then another, and then the moment he looked back at her for more than a split second, she dove down onto his futon, reached for the blankets and yanked them up to her neck. The instance she did, he stepped towards her, eyes wide and that familiar expression of indignation on his face.

For that instance, everything was right. Then something shuttered: he stared at her, at somewhere around her chin, took a step back. She saw his Adam's apple bob, and his hand was over his face. She could see him trembling now, even in the relative darkness.

"G-Gin-chan?" She asked, eyes wide, arm throbbing and chest aching and feeling like she'd done something very wrong without knowing.

Gin-chan let out a shaky breath, light like he was trying not to let her in on it. It was too quiet for that, but he tried anyways. Kagura sat up, let the blanket fall to her lap. She _had_ done something very wrong without knowing.

"I'm going—" His voice cracked. He paused, then started over. "I'm going to sleep on the couch."

"Gin-chan," she said again, reaching out with her left hand, but he was already moving around her, was already out the door and had shut it and Kagura felt sick, guilt pressing down on her. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she pressed her face down into them and tried not to cry. She curled her fingers into the blanket, thought about Gin-chan sitting alone in the dark, thought about Shinpachi pinned up against the ceiling by the blunt end of his own naginata, thought about blood under her fingernails and snapping bones between her hands, and failed.

* * *

(two hours later, not sleeping, not really, she slowly pulls the door open, blanket around her like she used to wear it when she was young and Mami was dead and Kamui was gone and Papi was away, and she looks at the couches, and Gin-chan isn't there

then she moves to the kitchen, and it's five in the morning and her cup of strawberry milk is still there, still full, lukewarm, and she picks it up and sips enough off the top that it's not spilling everywhere at the slightest tilt of her hand and she puts it in the microwave and hits two, zero, zero, start, and watches the cup spin, slow, bathed in yellow light

those two minutes move by as fast as the slugs the groundskeepers pick out of Soyo-chan's family's garden, move by as fast as the rain falls down during a typhoon, and she pulls the handle on the microwave door to open it at the shrill _beep, beep, beep_ , wraps her fingers around the warm plastic of the cup and pulls it out, and then brings it to her lips and sips

it does not taste good

she drinks it all anyways)


End file.
